


Lucky Triple Sevens

by yuletide_archivist



Category: NASCAR RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:44:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not usually this lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Triple Sevens

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cat for the beta. All other errors are mine.
> 
> Written for Maveness

 

 

I've never been one to hit the jackpot. My luck's never been that good. I enjoy a good party and a few rounds at the casinos but I'm always the one pushing to head someplace else, a bar, anything after a few hours. And then July 7th, 2007 rolled around and holy shit! It's the jackpot winner's number, the one everyone wants to hit. Lucky triple sevens. Just another day, just another race...but at the end I'm the one standing in Victory Lane, hoisting the trophy, celebrating with the crew.

It's my first win in nearly five years and it feels good! The spray of the champagne, the shouts of the guys, the lightning flashes going off, it all feels so good. I'm dragged over to one reporter after the other, somehow making it onto the SPEED stage. Answer question after question, thank the crew guys, thank Jack most of all for believing in me and make sure to show the Coke bottle in the TV shots. I should be holding it in most of the other photographs too. It's a running gag with all the Coke guys. Not everyone does it, but Elliott and I take pride in making sure our sponsor gets air time. Might not be during the race but it's something.

Back to the stage for the hat dance and I haven't gone through this nearly enough to care how long it takes. I could be here for the next week and I wouldn't mind. The grin stretching my face starts to hurt after maybe the tenth hat. Small price to pay for being here. Now if I could only get here more often. Sure didn't expect to be standing in Victory Lane at Daytona before winning elsewhere.

Only thing that'd make this better is if I had someone to celebrate with. Someone needs to host the party when we get back to North Carolina. I'm thinking it might be me with the way they're all eyeing me. Clap a few guys on the shoulders and laugh, calling out that the party's going to be at my place. The next round of hats are passed out and I gaze at the trophy while squeezing the bill of the cap.

Something new to add to the case that's so neglected back home. Those shelves should be overflowing with all the race trophies I've won. We've had streaks where I do well, end up with a string of decent finishes, even a couple of second places but never quite a win. Trace my fingers over the lettering saying Pepsi 400 Race Winner because it still doesn't feel real. I crossed the finish line first, just barely ahead of Casey. It's fitting I was racing him for the win.

We both started at Ganassi and now we're both elsewhere and doing well. It was good to see him in Victory Lane despite the massive disappointment in his eyes. It might've been my second win but at the cost of his first. Glance around when I hear them raising a cheer and pose for the next photo. It's Daytona and we're only a short flight away from home.

When we're done, Jack squeezes my shoulder and grins, saying this is only the first of many before he's gone in the direction of the helipad. I hope so. It'd be nice for once to be the one in the articles, the one talked about instead of the one being asked about someone else. Mark hands me a bottle of water instead of Coke and I shoot him a smile of thanks. Coke may be my sponsor poison of choice but nothing beats the cool slide of water down a parched throat after a race. 

Head toward my motorcoach with Mark peeling off to find his ride back. Probably with the guys or maybe with Jack if he hasn't already left. Wipe the back of my hand across my forehead as I step inside my motorcoach where I'm met with a kiss that has a dizzying promise of something more. Moan soft and press into the solid warmth, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck. His stubble scratches across my face as his lips move against mine.

Gaze up at him, breathless as I stammer, "Didn't 'spect to see you till I got home...."

"Now what kinda person would I be if I didn't congratulate you 'fore you left the track? What kind of person you takin' me to be?" He tugs my hat off and tosses it onto the counter before he curls a hand in my firesuit and tugs me backwards.

"The sorta man I plan on spending the next couple days celebrating with?" And he will be. Somewhere between the end of the race and my post race obligations he's managed a shower. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, there's nothing about him I want to say no to.

"That's what I'm talking about and we're gonna do some right now." The moment we reach the couch, he pulls me forward until I'm sprawled in his lap. His hands tug me closer as he nips at my lower lip. Grind down against him, the material of my firesuit is too much of a barrier to the feel of him pressing against me. Want it off and so does he as he shoves it off my shoulders, pushing up the white Nomex to get a hand against my skin.

Shiver and arch into him as I try for more of his kiss. Sometimes being with Elliott is a mission in itself. He doesn't mean to but he gets grabby, wanting me just the way he wants. Hell, like I mind because what he wants is what I end up enjoying a whole damn lot. Kisses pressed against my lips, my jaw, and down along my neck. So tempted to give into his touches, fall into the celebration he so wants to give me, but...there's a waiting plane, not enough room, and this should be savored.

Run my hands up his shoulders to splay against his chest and shift to avoid his lips. "Elly...c'mon, stop. Elly, let's celebrate at home." He's not listening to me. Hands and lips keep wandering and I tremble with need. Wet tongue ghosts over my pulse and I gasp, bucking against him when he strokes me rough. 

Tighten my legs around his hips and bite at his neck, just under where a collar can cover it up. Smile when he pulls back and meets my eyes with his own desire filled ones. His "what" is so lost in his accent it takes me a moment to puzzle it out.

"Home. Now. We can finish this there. More time there. More time for _us_." That gets him because there's a growl of appreciation. Slide from his lap before he can start his diversion again. Kiss him quick then dart for the bedroom. I do need to change into street clothes at least. As good as it would be, it'd be rushed. No time to enjoy it like we should. I'm not wasting this celebration in the cramped space of my motorcoach. No, I want time and lots of it and a bed and several places where we could have some fun.

Hurriedly pull on some jeans and a sweatshirt before I'm back out. Snag his hand and tug him toward the door and our ride home. Sooner we're on that plane, sooner I'll give into what he wants. To what we both want. Though I'm sure we'll find plenty of ways to keep ourselves in the right kind of mood in the meantime.

 


End file.
